


Loving you was like going to War

by magic8ball331



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, game of thrones
Genre: Age Difference, First Person, Love Letters, M/M, Stream of Consciousness, sexual content (brief), small ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 08:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5121275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magic8ball331/pseuds/magic8ball331
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loras Tyrell writes a letter to both his lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loving you was like going to War

**Author's Note:**

> Loving you was like going to war; I never came back the same.”

Loving you was like going to war. Whispers were knives in the night, drawing blood with every,”he’s been stabbing Renly for years” and “queer” and “So Tyrell he pisses rosewater.” I avert my eyes from them as I strap on your armor, we’re really going to war this time, not just with invisible knives but with a real host, and against the brother you love so much, your last brother, because a boar put Robert in the grave and killed Ned and that’s why all of this is happening in the first place. I wish desperately that I could give you my favor like The Beauty can. I already go to war for you every day, and can’t say a word, can’t tell them how wonderful you are, fighting a battle to pretend that I am mighty like Arthur Dayne or Jaime Lannister, to pretend that I do not shame the Gods by sleeping with another man.

Stay with me, you say, pray with me before we spill blood. And I agree, to cry out your name underneath a weirwood tree and beneath the moon.

I prayed for you that night, to the Warrior, to the Mother, to all of the Seven to watch over you and…

And then a shadow in the shape of Stannis Baratheon (that’s what Catelyn Tully says anyway) or Brienne of Tarth, or a direwolf…Or..Gods, I don’t care what did it but the world took you from me and I sent two members of your Kingsguard to follow you.

And I found with myself with Jaime Lannister, I buried you with mine own hands, I told him, somewhere no one else would know where to look, and later he pours me a cup of wine, the white book sitting on the table beside him. And somehow I end up praying with him, bodies that somehow already know each other too well are entwined, and I don’t think of you. At all. And that makes me feel guilty. 

And I will always love you, but I somehow found myself finding comfort in the arms of Jaime Lannister. He cannot replace you, my sun, he is not replacing you.

But I’ve fallen in love with yet another warrior, yet another war to drag me down with it. Another man to pray with, another man to pray for when he goes off to war for his precious sister.

Oh, Jaime. I always used to be sorry that I wasn’t like you. Or at least what I thought you were. Westeros would either paint you as a hero, the golden boy, unfaltering in every step,the perfect masculine hero, or an atrocious villain, oath breaker,sister fucker, Kingslayer. You, are neither what Westeros wants you to be, nor what you want to be. I know that I am not the Tyrell hero the world wants me to be.

And we are not what they would say we are.

I don’t know what we are, however. I know that our bodies match too perfectly in a world nothing is supposed to match up that well. I know that I’d let you fuck me over and over again on that table, until I can’t see straight or walk properly.  
I know that the rest of the world doesn’t matter at any moment, but especially at that moment, nothing matters other than you. I don’t think anything else ever will again. 

But I am tired of fighting, scrambling with wave after wave of soldiers to keep us a secret. I am tired of the fear that someone will object to a man laying with another. I am tired of hiding behind closed doors, tired of having to pry my legs from yours when the sun spreads lazy fingers across the bed sheets. We know that they will, I know that they don’t understand why I would prefer to have the company of a warrior. 

I know that you are like me, with the same calloused hands and battle scars, I know the pain you suffer whenever you remember that your hand is gone, I know that you and I are one and the same, and I know that they will never understand (nor care) how we feel when we’re together. That we are two halves of the same whole, twins in our own right.

Run away with me, lover. Renly and I should have run when we had the chance. I’m sorry that we didn’t, I know that now. We shouldn’t have simply left King’s Landing, we should have taken a boat to Bravoos, Pentos, anywhere but here. Somewhere without the Sept and the Seven, without the Iron Throne, without Cersei, without Westeros whispering japes down our necks. Somewhere where we can kiss, touch, Gods forbid hold hands like husband and bride do without worrying.

Perhaps, Jaime, we can stop fighting this war now. We can finally go home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my little ficlet! I'm exploring the possibility of expanding it into a series of sorts, perhaps, or writing something about the boys running to Essos together. We'll see, but for now this is it.


End file.
